


The Back Booth of the Three Broomsticks

by kinky_kneazle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Generation Relationship, F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinky_kneazle/pseuds/kinky_kneazle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed that every time his life went through an upheaval, Severus found himself sitting in the back booth of the Three Broomsticks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Back Booth of the Three Broomsticks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kelly_chambliss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelly_chambliss/gifts).



> With much love to L for the beta – my work is always better for her input. This was originally written for snapely_holidays. It features frottage, virginal!Snape, older woman/younger man, very slight AU (I had to move a small bit of Book 6 timeline to make the story work). Snape is still a student when the affair starts, but is definitely of age.

It started during his first Hogsmeade weekend. He had walked with Lily into the village and she had bravely ignored the taunting of Potter and his ilk and Severus had thought that he might just fall in love with her for that. With one of his carefully hoarded Galleons, he’d ordered Butterbeers for both of them and the man behind the bar had told him to take a seat.

"My daughter will bring them out in just a moment for you, lad. It's a bit busy on Hogwarts days."

So Severus had sat next to Lily at the small table, the crowd pressing in from each side, and he had catalogued her perfection as they talked. Her auburn hair, flowing in soft waves over her shoulders. Those wide, green eyes that always looked at him kindly, despite the large nose, even more crooked now for being broken by Sirius Black. The perfect lips that smiled at him and the warm heart that ignored his awkward manner and greasy hair and the way he snapped at people to keep them away.

Yes, he decided. Loving Lily Evans was as easy to him as making a Strengthening Solution.

Then the Butterbeers were brought over and he realised he hadn't known what love was.

The woman, for that is what she was, had lips painted red and dark, wild curls that hung down her back. Her voice was a siren call as she said, "Here you are, loves."

"Thank you, Madam," he said and almost kicked himself for the stiff formality he heard.

"Madam makes me sound like my Mum. It's just Rosie." She winked at him before she turned away. He didn't take his eyes from her hips as they rolled their way back to the bar.

"Merlin, Sev, the woman has a face as well."

He blushed. "Shut up, Lil."

"You'd think that at her age, she'd manage to keep her jugs inside her blouse."

"You're just jealous that you don't have any."

She flounced off to find the Gryffindor girls and Sev nursed both Butterbeers and watched Rosie move around the Three Broomsticks. It was their first fight.

 

There was a Hogsmeade weekend immediately after they sat their OWLs in fifth-year. He'd done something incredibly stupid, but it wasn't like he hadn’t been provoked. Still. That word.

"A Firewhisky please, Rosie," he said when he sat at the bar.

"You know I can't do that, Sev," she said. She was one of the few who remembered his name. Lily said it was because she wanted more business, but Sev told himself it was because she cared. She placed a Butterbeer in front of him and asked, "What's wrong?"

"I had a fight with Lily," he replied. Perfect Lily. Pure, untouchable, Lily, who would stay that way, he was sure. Lily, who had the temper of an avenging angel and the laugh of a faerie trying to tempt you to Avalon. He flicked his eyes downwards and he was staring straight down Rosie's top. He felt the heat rise on his face and quickly looked back up.

"I'm sure she'll forgive you, Sev. You two fit together like a wand with its core."

"I don't think she'll forgive me for this."

"Snivellus!" Sirius Black's voice carried across the room and Severus felt his entire body tense up.

"Thanks for the drink, Rosie," he said as he fished in his pocket for a coin.

"It's on the house today, gorgeous."

He smiled gratefully and took the back door out of the bar. The Three Broomsticks wasn't the only bar in town, and as all Slytherins knew, the Hog’s Head would serve whisky to anyone with coin.

 

It was the winter of his seventh-year that he made the worst mistake of his life. Even hours after having the brand seared into his forearm, he was questioning the wisdom of it. She may not have forgiven him, but he still thought Lily perfect. And if he thought Lily perfect, then how could he believe that all Muggle-borns should die? And everyone knew that he was a half-blood, yet the Dark Lord had accepted him into the fold. He nodded politely to Lucius Malfoy and Apparated to Hogsmeade.

The Three Broomsticks was different at night. There were couples sitting in dark corners and large groups of wizards getting drunk while arguing about Quidditch teams. There were no students, no one he knew, and he moved directly to the bar.

"What'll it be tonight, Sev?"

"Whisky please, Rosie." Rosie gave him a look. "I'm of age," he said. "And it's not a school night."

He downed it in one gulp and immediately asked for another.

"Are you planning on getting drunk in my bar, Severus Snape?"

"That's a distinct possibility, Rosmerta Duncan."

"Can you afford an entire bottle of Old Ogden's?"

"I sold some potions. I find myself with an excess of funds tonight." He took five Galleons from his pocket and put them on the bar. "For the bottle and every time you've been kind enough to offer me a drink on the house."

"Severus..."

He ignored her, taking his glass and bottle to a booth in the darkest corner of the bar where he could get good and drunk without any interruption.

He didn't hear the call go out for last drinks; he was too busy forgetting.

"Anything I can help with, love?"

He looked up and realised the bar was empty. She had a potion in her hand and he recognised the Sobering Solution immediately.

"I'm trying to forget," he said with what he hoped was dignity, but was probably slurring.

She leaned in close so that her words tickled his ear. "Why don't you drink this potion up and give it the ten minutes it needs to work. Then, if you still want to forget, come see me and I'll help."

Her tongue snaked out to taste his earlobe and Severus told himself that she did not just offer what he thought she offered. He downed the Sobering Solution and gritted his teeth at the pain that went in waves through his body; it was nothing compared to the pain he'd endured earlier that night. Once the potion had done its job, he thought again about what Rosie had said. He must have misunderstood. He did still want to forget.

"Rosie?"

"Severus."

"I still want to forget."

She nodded and took his hand and led him back to the booth he'd just vacated. She pushed him onto the seat and sat on the table, her feet on either side of his hips.

"Have you ever done this before, Severus?"

He wasn't sure what she was planning, but as it involved a female and possibly nudity, then there was no chance he'd done it. He shook his head mutely.

"What would you like to do first?"

His hands rose of their own volition to brush over the breasts that so fascinated every man that walked through the doors. She smiled and hummed lightly and he gave them a soft squeeze. His cock was growing hard and he shifted in his seat to ease the ache. Rosie's robes buttoned down the front and he hesitantly moved to the top button. She nodded and he began undressing her slowly, reverently, trying to believe that this was really happening.

Her flesh was smooth and lightly freckled, a rosy colour to go with her name. He moved forward, pressing his mouth to the skin, flicking his tongue out to have a taste.

"Here," she said with a breathy sigh, and he followed her directions to take a pebbled nipple into his mouth. She hummed with pleasure and he wondered if it was possible to come in his pants just from the smell and the sound and the taste of her, filling his every sense.

She slid off the table and pulled her robes up so she could position one knee on either side of his hips. She settled against him and Severus could feel a burning heat even through both trousers and robes. He transferred his mouth to her other breast and in the confined space of booth and table she began to move.

"Merlin," he breathed as it felt like every drop of his essence was forced down into his pants.

"You feel good, Severus," she whispered against his ear. "So good underneath me."

Every rock of her hips ground down harder against his aching erection and he knew he was going to embarrass himself, but didn't know how to stop it happening. Her hand was clenched tight in his hair; little spasms seemed to coincide with the downward push of her hips, but she did not let him move his mouth away from where he suckled her nipple.

"Gods, yes, Severus." It sounded like a moan.

He wrapped his hands around her, cradling her back and holding her tight as he began to press his hips up into her. He did not let up on her breast; it was if it was actually providing sustenance, providing something he desperately needed.

"Don't stop," she said. "Please, don't stop."

As if he could.

Suddenly she was shuddering in his arms, a guttural groan echoing through the empty bar. His eyes widened as he realised what was happening; this beautiful, _real_ woman was having an orgasm in his arms. Reaching her sexual climax.

 _Coming._

"Yesss," he hissed, letting the word get absorbed into the soft flesh his face was still buried against. His cock was still pulsing, still held tight inside his pants, and he could feel the stickiness spread around him, as well as a warm, damp spot where she had moved against him.

She kissed him then. Her lips were soft against his cheek. He didn't turn his head to capture her lips, she didn't move her mouth near his.

"You should go home, Severus. These are dark times; it's not good to be caught out so late."

 

After that night, he didn't go back to the Three Broomsticks. He told himself it was because his new compatriots were more inclined to drink at the Hog’s Head. That it was because the dingy, seedy pub on the other side of the town was where he would hear interesting things that his Master would wish to hear.

In reality, it was because he felt like he'd betrayed Lily Evans the moment he’d touched Rosie. And because he was mortified that he'd come in his pants like the school boy he was.

The day Lily Evans married James Potter, Severus stood Disillusioned at the back of the church in Godric's Hollow and watched. The church was full of Gryffindors and Muggles and under the cover of his glamour, Severus scowled at Tuney and her horribly obese husband and at Albus Dumbledore who looked straight at him and _twinkled_.

"You may now kiss the bride," the priest intoned and Severus found he couldn't look away as Lily - _his Lily_ \- tilted her head back and pressed her body close to James Potter's and kissed him. Clung to him, even, as he dipped her over his arm in a crass display of Gryffindorish theatrics that drew laughs from everyone watching.

He didn't want to drink at the Hog’s Head that night, with hags and half-giants and the goat that sat in pride of place before the fire. He went to the Three Broomsticks to find his Rosie.

He was no longer a green boy, and when Rosie came to him in the back booth after closing, he showed her what he'd learnt.

 

It seemed that every time his life went through an upheaval, he found himself sitting in the back booth of the Three Broomsticks. After a long night under the Cruciatus Curse, he would bend Rosie over the table and fuck the shakes out of himself. After he realised that Voldemort was going to target Lily, he dragged her to the floor and laid his weight atop her, ignoring the stickiness of the floor beneath him as he tried to forget his fear. And after he spoke to Albus Dumbledore and begged for sanctuary, he pulled her atop his lap and let her ride him until his worries spilled inside her.

On October 31st, 1981, the Three Broomsticks didn't close. He sat in his back booth for as long as he could bear the celebratory mood around him. Didn't they know that Lily had died tonight? He watched Rosie lean over the bar, giving a red-haired imbecile a view straight down her top, and decided he'd had enough. He walked out and didn't return for fifteen years.

 

It was Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts when Severus Snape returned to the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta was now, indeed, a Madam, though a widow. Her hair was shot with grey and there were lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Her hands showed the calluses of pulling drinks and working behind a bar for more than twenty years. Despite all that, she looked younger than him.

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," he murmured, and the light returned to her eyes. He caught her as her awareness rushed back and her legs refused to hold her up.

"Severus," she breathed, and memories of the back booth came rushing back to him. He quickly set her on a stool and stepped back, drawing his coldness and impassivity around him like a cloak.

"Madam." His nod was curt.

"It's still just Rosie," she said, her smile warm, though still wavering.

He couldn't do it. This was the woman of his youth, there when his ideal had walked away and left him alone. "I'm glad you are better, Madam – Rosie." He turned towards the door, but her hand grabbed his. It reminded him of his own – slightly callused and overly dry – but it was still warm and made his own cool skin feel like melting ice.

"Thank you," was all she said before she let him go. Her voice reminded him of Butterbeer and whisky and being young and wild enough to fuck someone over the table of the booth in the back corner. He walked away as quickly as he could.

 

Still, it was memories that brought him back the next time. He knew what he was going to have to do; earlier that day he'd argued with Albus about it. As usual, the Headmaster asked far too much of him, but he would follow orders; there were no other options in this war they all fought.

But he needed support as well. He needed the chance to forget, even for a moment, the terrible times to come. So he ordered a brandy, his tastes having matured in the fifteen years since he was last here, and sat in the back booth and hoped for something he had thought never to seek again: companionship.

Rosie didn't spot him until the end of the night, after the crowds had dispersed. She smiled and he allowed his lips to twitch in response. He stayed through the last call and watched her shoo the last customer out the door, teasing smile and kind words on her lips. Then she sent her barmaid off home and locked up. Finally, she approached his table with a bottle of brandy in one hand and a snifter in the other.

"Would you rather sit by the fire, Severus? I'm older than I once was."

He followed her to the sofa that created a cosy area by the non-Floo fireplace. The fire still roared, cutting through the cold, Scottish night. She topped up both their snifters and they settled back into the cushions.

"It seems it was dark times the last time we met after closing as well."

Severus opened his mouth to apologise to her, but she cut him off.

"It's been fifteen years, Severus. There's no need for apologies. I knew you were hurting, after losing your Lily."

"That wasn't-"

Her hand covered his. "Of course it was."

They sat silent for a moment, both sipping their brandy.

"So, were you just wanting to catch up tonight, Severus?"

Severus recognised that smile; it was as alluring on her at fifty-something as it had been in her twenties.

"I – " He cleared his throat. He was stammering as if he was still a green seventeen-year-old. "I would hate to presume."

"Severus, we're old friends. Aren't we?" She had turned towards him and reached a hand out to brush away the hair that was falling across his face.

"That doesn't mean-" He was cut off by her lips and he automatically lifted his hands to thread through her hair. It was as soft as he remembered, although where the candlelight used to glint off glossy brown locks, the fire now highlighted the grey.

She pulled away and looked into his eyes. "It doesn't have to mean anything." There was another kiss. "It can be just for tonight."

He should walk away, he knew that. The time was coming when he would kill Albus Dumbledore and he would be marked very clearly. Death Eater. Murderer. She would be ashamed of him then; ashamed of this. Her hand was on his thigh and he realised he would not say no. So many times he had refused in the last fifteen years, trying to be a good man. On this night, he would allow the voice of his conscience to be drowned out.

"Tonight then," he said, and he pushed forward until she was lying on the couch, all soft curves under him.

She looked solemn, staring at him as if she was trying to see inside and figure him out. "This hair," she murmured, pulling its length over his shoulders then pushing it back. It had always fascinated her. Finally, she grinned. "Shall we retire to the back booth?"

"You may still be young enough for hard bench seats and a cold table, Rosie, but I'm an old man these days." He waved his wand and the couch stretched underneath them; if tonight was all he could have, then he was going to enjoy it.

He reached a hand to her robes, then paused. He had never seen her naked; they had always stayed half-dressed, robes hanging off shoulders, knickers pushed to the side. "May I?" he asked, feeling like that green boy again. She nodded and he carefully pushed the button back through its hole. Then a second and a third. Her skin was being revealed inch by inch.

She blushed suddenly. "I'm not-"

"You are."

"What?"

He pushed the halves of the robe apart and gazed upon her. "Beautiful." He took his time peeling the clothes from her, licking each new inch of skin exposed. She was impatient with him, though, tugging sharply until he obliged her by spelling his buttons open and quickly pulling his clothes off. Then, for the first time, he was pressed, naked skin to naked skin, against his Rosie.

She was mesmerising, his Rosie. She pushed at his shoulder, taking control yet again and he slipped onto his back easily. Rosie always made him forget. That first day he'd seen her, she'd made him forget Lily for a moment. Then they both forgot the war, and bad decisions, and the ache of losing people they loved. Tonight he was going to forget the future. Forget what was to come.

She straddled his hips and wet heat rested atop the hard ridge of his cock. Her breasts rested lower than he remembered, a heavy fullness that he ached to touch. Her body was softer and the lines of pregnancy traced her belly. His fingers traced them, then curved around to her arse where they pressed and kneaded and urged her to rock against him.

Her body tipped forward and she made to kiss him, but he ducked, pressing his lips to the breast that was so tantalisingly close. Her breathy moans were being buried in his hair and her hips were moving restlessly. Rosie had always been like that, taking her pleasure greedily. Wantonly. But never selfishly. Oh, no. She always drew every drop of pleasure from his body as she went racing towards her own.

"May I taste you?" he asked. Taste and smell, they were a Potion Master's most acute senses and he was desperate to bury his nose in the moisture that was beginning to coat him. He tugged her forward until she straddled his face. He stretched his neck and took a deep breath through his nose, drowning in the musky scent of her – sweat and sex and heady anticipation. His tongue snaked out and took a delicate taste, then his hands tightened and pulled her down so that he could bury himself in her.

He took a long moment to press his tongue as far inside her as it could go before directing his attention to the nub of her clitoris. He experimented until he discovered what made her thighs tense around his face, then he stuck with the slow, firm, steady strokes that were drawing gasps from her throat. His cock didn't need to be touched, not with his face smeared in juices that dripped down his chin and soaked into his very pores; he was hard and aching and desperately needy.

She began to take control, pushing back against the tongue, not asking for what she wanted – taking it instead.

"Yes, Sev. Please, yes!"

He kept his tongue moving as she began to shake under his hands. He couldn't tell if her orgasm was never-ending or if she had one after the other as long as he continued to move, but eventually she pulled away, desperately gasping for air.

"Need you in me," she said and he scrambled to a sitting position and pulled her back into his lap. "Am I going to do all the work tonight?" she asked with a breathless laugh.

"Yes." Then he thrust up into that tight heat and _everything_ was forgotten.

Merlin knew he wanted to give her a gentle night, a soft, sweet, loving coupling. A good-bye gift to the woman who had been there for him – first crush, first drink, first lover. But she would not stand for that; she demanded more. She demanded everything. She writhed atop his cock, making sure he couldn't think straight, could barely remember his own name.

Her breasts were once again in front of his face and he took a nibble, a little bite around her nipple until she whimpered.

"Want you to come in me."

He groaned and wrapped his bony arms up and around her back so that his hands rested on her shoulders. Like that he could pull her down, demand the pace he wanted by dragging her down so hard and fast that he thought both of them would have bruises tomorrow.

"Fuck, Rosie," he said as she began sucking at his neck. He pressed a finger against her clit, something extra for her to rub against and it was only seconds before a cry escaped her throat again and this time he could feel her muscles contracted around him. One, two thrusts later and he stilled her, holding her tightly as his hips made tiny thrusting movements and her cunt milked the last of the semen from his body.

"Wow," she said and he chuckled as he pressed his forehead to the skin between her breasts. She relaxed against him and he allowed himself to draw comfort from their embrace, if only for a moment. He was still glad when she stirred.

"Do you want –"

"I should – "

They both paused.

"Do you want to stay?" she asked after a moment.

"I must return to the school. I'm sorry."

"You will return, though?"

"Of course," he lied, and it pained him to do so. Strange. He did not usually feel guilt for the untruths he told. But this was Rosie.

They pulled away from each other slowly and Severus gently spelled them clean. She slid her outer robe over her naked body before helping him into his clothes. Finally, she kissed him and it felt like a promise, one he was unable to keep.

He caressed her cheek before he walked out into the cold. It was better this way; he would keep telling himself that. He'd be a murderer before the year was out. The Dark Lord's most loyal follower. He wouldn't have Rosie feeling ashamed of a continuing association.

He turned and saw she was still standing at the door, arms hugging herself tightly for warmth. He raised a hand and turned resolutely away. He could see the castle in the distance and set his feet towards home. He had chosen this path years ago and he must walk it to the end. His memories of the back booth would have to be enough to sustain him.


End file.
